Thriller Night
by PassionsInsanity
Summary: Continueing after 'Today is gonna be the Day'. Stand alone. Part of the story of my TW character Morgan 'Jazz' Bishop. This is how Bosco and Jazz met and a little background on her. Becoming a bit AU. STILL NEEED TO DO A SPELLING CHECK!


"Darkness falls across the land  
The midnite hour is close at hand  
Creatures crawl in search of blood  
To terrorize yawls neighbourhood  
And whosoever shall be found  
Without the soul for getting down  
Must stand and face the hounds of hell  
And rot inside a corpses shell  
The foulest stench is in the air  
The funk of forty thousand years  
And grizzy ghouls from every tomb  
Are closing in to seal your doom  
And though you fight to stay alive  
Your body starts to shiver  
For no mere mortal can resist  
The evil of the thriller"  
Michael Jackson - Thriller

Lunch is our last peaceful time before we enter a world where killing someone for ten bucks is considered normal and where there are lions taking down their prey. It's the reason why I do it, every day. Because I want to be with my guys, check on them, make sure they're stepping focused and ready into this ashed world of destruction and lies. A lot of people don't understand if I explain, they just think I'm crazy and am wasting precious time. Time that we all know, we could use. But this is the way I work. Don't like it, don't ask. It's my way and I know my way is good because it feels good.

During lunch, we're running down the latest facts and discuss our approach. I casually mention that Bosco will be riding with me, earning a cautious glare from my partner sitting next to me and I see a shadowy reflection of gratefulness in his eyes. Milo and Looey bring Bosco up to speed on the entire case. This all gives me the time to eat my breakfast calmly while observing the borrowed officer. I immediately notice that he knows his stuff. He asks thorough and well-considered questions, some questions not asked by my guys so quickly. He takes in the info quickly, studies the picture, printing the images of the ones we want in his memory. He notices details. He gives perps nicknames, making it easier for him to remember. Just as I start to think that Boscorelli might even make a great asset to my team, my guys are done and we've all finished breakfast.

"Nance, could you put it on my tab please?"

The blond nods and waves us goodbye. Mario shouts across the room as we exit the cheap restaurant. Outside, both Milo and I grab for our smokes.

"I want to step by my friend first. Milo, you and Looey go to the warehouse, see if there's anything moving. Then we're bringing in Headless and Stupid for questioning while I get the nod from Swersky. Hopefully, Anti-Crime will be on stand-by. Yeah?"

The two addressed men nod and move towards their car, leaving Bosco and me standing on the chilly grey pavement stones.

"Who's your friend?"

"A guy protected with information that I need."

"Your informant."

"He's not my informant and don't let him hear that you've called him that."

Talking, we step into the car (I'm driving, of course). Expertly, I drive to my destination with a cigarette in one hand. We talk a bit, Bosco asks some more about the case and I happily fill him in. This could be one of the biggest busts in the last months. I point out to him that this is not the time to prove oneself and to take this all seriously. Last thing we need is some highly paid attorney going after that one, minuscule mistake we made. I need this to be clean.

"So, what's true and what's all a load of crap?"

We're sitting outside an near falling apart building that some people are forced to call home. I can't imagine living like that. I know I've been lucky, my grandparents left me enough money to live comfortably and I don't spend much. But this, this is a whole other world. I watch an elderly lady walking across the street. She's bend over forward, as if carrying too much invisible load on her back. A backpack full of worries and dead dreams. I feel pity for her. Her shoes are worn, her hair is long, grey and dirty. The dress she wears has holes in it and I don't want to know when it was the last time it saw the inside of a laundry machine.

This place, it somehow reminds me of home. The coldness. The grey, dead atmosphere. Nothing is alive in this neighborhood. Here the shades of people that used to live, live here now, hidden away so the rest of the world doesn't know they abide, dwelling, suffering and laying here, waiting to die. I call this part of the city the 'City of wandering shades'. I only need to mention this part of the city combined with that name, and everybody knows what I'm talking about, but nobody lifts a finger. Comfortable people don't want to change things. It's all just a beautiful mess.

I'm annoyed. My source was supposed to be here half an hour ago and I'm still sitting in the black nineteen-ninety-nine Chevy Z22 Cavalier. It's cold outside and I'm bored.

"What?"

"The stories. They can't all be true."

Bosco's sitting next to me, staring out the window, one elbow resting on the door. He looks just as bored as me and he doesn't even know why we're even here in the first place.

"There are so many, I can't keep up."

Time for another smoke.

"Is it true you slept with your boss from the F.B.I.?"  
"Listen mister, first of all, I don't have a F.B. I. boss. Swersky is my boss. And his boss is my boss. Secondly, my F.B.I. supervisor is a woman. Besides, you suck up to the people above you, you sleep with the ones below."  
"Wouldn't you suck up to your boss if you slept with them while he's the one below your stand?"  
"No. And it depends."  
"On what?"  
"If you do it more than once, it's not sucking up anymore."  
"What's with the nickname?"  
"My grandparents immigrated from Ireland to Chicago."  
"Chicago?"  
"That's what I said."  
"You were born in Chicago?"  
"No. New York."  
"You don't sound like that."  
"I inherited my grandparents' Irish accent."  
"So do-"

I cut him off. I'm cranky and I don't like myself when I'm cranky, nor does anybody else. And this whole conversation is turning into an interrogation.

"I'm twenty-seven, don't date, not seeing anyone, I do casual sex."  
"As long as it's not sucking up."  
"Good boy."

I smile, shortly and without him noticing. The elderly lady drops her groceries and she's hovering over the pavement to pick it all up. Two young boys walk by and they help her. Amazing. If this happened in any other street, people would just walk right past you, pretending not to see. In this neighborhood, it's them, united, against the world.

"I have a name you know."  
"I heard."  
"Then why don't you use it?"  
"I don't call people by their usual nicknames, I think of my own."  
"So I'm 'The Sub'?"  
"No, I'm torn between Hothead and Yankee, but I think I'll go for Italy."  
"What's your nickname?"  
"Jazz."  
"I thought that was your real name."  
"Nope."  
"What is your real name?"  
"I'd tell you, but then I'd have to shoot you."

My senses are on alert now. My eyes narrow to see the figure on the other side of the street better, sharper, closer. My mind recognizes the red leather jacket. His stupid haircut. The way he walks.

"I'm thinking a unisex name. Like Frankie or Robyn or somethin'."  
"Frankie."  
"Yeah."  
"Seriously?"  
"Not kidding."  
"I like Yankee."

It's him. I feel the adrenaline rush through my veins as drugs does to junkies. I love this feeling. My brain kicks in and starts rolling, thinking, considering, calculating. I move, quickly, smoothly, a lioness on the move . I open the door, notice Bosco follows my immediate action and rolls right in line.

"Too bad Italy."

We both step out of the car, I hear him say 'Whatever you say Chicago' as I cross the street in a rapid pace. Bosco follows right behind like a loyal dog. He's good.

"Don't make me run Frankie!"

My voice echoes through the empty street and the young man looks up startled. He sees me, his mind processes it and I know that he shortly considers running. But he knows me better. He knows that if he runs, I'll catch him and be in a hell of a mood. So his face twists till it looks irritated and he halts.

As I called out his name, Bosco glares at me with a half smile on his face. I inwardly smile at myself.

"How you doin' Frankie?"

"I'm all right. How are you this morning Pope?"

"I'm cold and cranky and crappy because I had to sit in a friggin' car all morning."

Frankie opens his mouth to speak. I'm faster.

"I'm late, you got two minutes."

Two minutes. Two minutes are a lot of my time. Especially if you consider that I 'wasted' forty-five minutes for lunch, while roll call only takes fifteen minutes. I hate to fritter my time away like this, with people that take minutes to say something that can be said in thirty seconds. People that I rather not be around because I needed that information yesterday, so the criminal that I lock up today can be locked up yesterday. I usually let Foxy and Looey do this kind of dirty work, but Frankie is a special friend.

Two minutes were, however, enough for me to know exactly what I needed to know. Names, addresses, times and leads. Finally, it was time for some action. Adrenaline pumping, heartbeat rising, mind racing. I love my job.

Shots ring through a deserted street, echoing like thunder over plain calms. Striking hard as lighting, hitting where you least expect it. I'm ducked behind my car, Bosco next to me. Police cars are scattered through the street like leaves on autumn's day. It's a pretty sight if you manage to block the vehement sounds that mean destruction. A hissing sound comes from my left and I see one of the police squads sink, flat tire. I curse, images of building up paperwork and a furious Swersky racing through my mind. I push them away, I need to focus. Do and get things right.

Milo talks to me through the radio, making up a plan. It was time to move, time to be a cop and arrest some people. Within minutes, the warzone is suddenly quiet and resting. It's strange, really, that in a couple of minutes, something can change so drastically. I do a head count, checking if my guys are all right, Bosco again, standing right next to me. Then the perps, two dead, one wounded, boss in cuffs and three on the run, already chased by uniforms.

"Not bad for a day like this."

Bosco looks at me but remains silent. Milo offers me a cigarette and Looey joins us.

"One wounded, some glass splinters in his forehead because of the crash. Otherwise, everybody is fine."

I nod absentmindedly and look around. Two paramedics are working on the man that I shot in the shoulder. I pat Milo on his shoulder.

"Good job. Everybody."

"You get that line in yet?"  
"Already done. We're ready to transport him."

One of the medics, Carlos Nieto, hears my approaching footsteps and looks over his shoulder.

"How's he doing?"

The paramedic stands up, leveling with me.

"He's going to be all right, shot wound to the shoulder, through and through."  
"All right, thanks, I'll send a uniform to go with you."  
"Are you okay?"

I look at him surprised. I was feeling fine, rather good actually. I turn completely to a man I never thought would consider one of my closest friends. Carlos and I always had a weird relationship. We met, beginning of the friendship, two days later, it felt like forever. I've never experienced something like that. It was like we had been friends in our past lives or something. We connected, instantly, bluntly. At first, it felt uncomfortable and strange, this still unknown man walks into my live and we crash. Suddenly, it's like I've known him for all my life and he knows about everything without me saying a word. He just gets me.

"You're bleeding."

While mentioning it, he points with his blue gloved finger at my forehead. I move my hand to my head and when I look at it, I see some bright red blood. I touch it again, pushing the hair that loosely hung before it away.

"Just a cut."  
"You need that looked at."  
"You'll need some stitches. Why don't you ride with us."  
"Yeah, sure."

In the beginning, I hated him acting like my brother. I had a brother, Bobby. He just was and felt like my brother. I didn't need another person looking after me, noticing things that were hidden for a reason, behind closed doors. He was, however, persuasive and utterly stubborn. He made clear how he felt, his confusions and the things that kept him up at night. Without any sense, it made sense. Since then, we've had a special bond that enchanted everyone around us. And I know how FDNY guys like to call me. I walk back to my guys to tell them I'm riding with the ambulance and further assign them to clean things up.

"I'll see you at the house."  
"Take care boss."

I'm back at the ambulance just in time to help them put the perp in the bus. Kim Zambrano nods her head in a greeting and she moves to the driver side. Carlos steps in the back and I simply follow.

"Great, more hero scars."

I look up as good as I can as ER doctor Montville stitches up my forehead. Milo enters the room, holding two cups of coffee, steam rising above them.

"Just a minor cut."  
"Well, it would probably make a nice story."

I smile and he hands me one of the cups.

"So, what do you think?"  
"He's all right."  
"He's not going to replace anyone. He's just filling in till Foxy is ready to come back."  
"How's his mom?"  
"Pneumonia."  
"Again?"  
"'Fraid so."  
"He's good. Got the timing, good eye, a bit of a hothead but I think he's holding back. Intimidated."  
"You are an intimidating kinda guy."

Milo sends me a look and I smile.

"All right, all done. Just keep it clean."  
"Thanks doc."

I hop off the bed and gather my things. I see Milo looking through the window, as I follow his gaze I see Boscorelli standing at the front desk talking to Cruz. I stand next to him, fighting the scorching urge to run since doc told me I was done. I hate hospitals.

"I like him."  
"So I've noticed."  
"Jealous?"

Milo looks at me, grinningly broadly, eyes sparkling. He leans close to me as we exit the room and approach the desk.

"Christ, I know whenever you need it good you'll come knocking on my door, not his."  
"Don't ever talk to me like that again."  
"Yes boss."  
"Ready?"

Bosco spins around, I witness his eyes flash to my forehead but he makes no further comments.

"Nice bust today, Chicago."  
"What, you two forming a club or something?"

Maritza Cruz smiles and playfully smacks my arm.

"I was just talking to Bosco over here, he says he's working with SCPU today."  
"He is."  
"Foxy's mom again?"

I smile apologetically.

"You were playing in my sandbox Jingle bells."

I return the playful smack and start to head down the exit.

"You never did mind Pizza."

Bosco shakes his head as he walks next to me. I smile.

"What?"  
"You. With your nicknames."  
"Gotta make the world a happy place Italy, otherwise it's just a big cloud of darkness."

The sound of work has always intrigued me. The keys on keyboards getting hit in a high pace, papers shuffling, sounds wavering through the air, people shifting in their seats, chairs resting under the weight, making tired sounds, pens carving down on white sheets and carbon coffee cups getting picked up and put down. It's a funny sight to see three impressive men working so hard under the lead of a witty sergeant. Milo's leaning back in his chair, checking his report for errors or spelling mistakes. Hé, when you _do_ do your paperwork, you better do it good. Looey is filling in a form, his hand holding a New York Taxi pen, flying over the sheet of paper. Bosco's head leans on his left hand, bend over forward over his papers and he looks like he's making notes on his file.

Milo sighs deeply and finishes his coffee before he stands up. His way of walking is relaxed, as always, arms waving down his side, crooked at the elbow so he won't constantly hit his gun belt when carrying one. He's got the 'cop walk', arrogant, self-assured, calm, controlled. He's at ease, always has been with a badge around his neck. He sits down on the edge of my desk and he hands me a case file.

"All done."  
"Good boy."  
"You done yet?"  
"Yeah, finished about ten minutes ago."  
"Perhaps we can squeeze some more out of Stupid."  
"Nah, he's too stupid to know anything else. He's dry."  
"Then I guess it's a day."  
"It sure is."  
"You're going to Chimba's mother tonight?"  
"Wouldn't want to miss a great party."

My partner looks at me and smirks. A chair is pulled back, papers ruffle some more and then Boscorelli approaches us.

"How long's Foxy going to be gone?"  
"About a week or something, he doesn't know. I don't want to call him in, could be the last days with his mother, y'know."  
"Yeah."

Milo and I both didn't know what it's like to not have a mother. Sure, mine hasn't been the one to be nominated for the Best Mom Award, but I've always had one. Milo's mother is perfect so it's hard to imagine what's it like to watch your mother tumbled down into forgetfulness. To witness her slip through your fingers and all you can do it stand at the sidewalk and watch, imprint everything you see to have it haunt you in your darkest dreams.

"Done."

I smile kindly at the officer and take his paper work. I flip through it.

"Thanks."

He only nods.

"I'm thinking about inviting him."  
"Yeah?"  
"Yeah."  
"I'm sure Chimba's mom would love it."  
"She'll love him."  
"I'm standing right here you know."

We both look at Boscorelli with a look that reads 'We know'. He shrugs when our eyes meet.

"We've always gone as a team."  
"Foxy's not going to be around for at least a week. If his mother does die, perhaps even longer. We could use him."

I see Bosco crossing his arms demonstratively yet he remains silent. Either he's learning quickly and knows that this is a thing that we do our own way, or he's cooking inside but holds it back, not wanting to make a bad impression on his first day. Especially not when he might ride along longer.

"I don't mind."  
"I'll pick you up a eight."  
"Hé Italy."

He looks up in surprise, his eyes immediately finding mine. There's something about him that I can't put my finger on. He's deep, catching. His eyes are penetrating my soul like we invade places during raids. They're keen, piercing, almost rigid and radiant. They hold something deep, something secretive. His eyes are the bars before his soul. His faces wears a questioning look. He does learn quickly.

"We've got a party at Chimba's mother tonight. Want to come?"  
"Who's Chimba?"  
"He used to be part of this team."  
"Used to be?"

He asks carefully, knowing he's standing on slippery, treacherous ice.

"He died of cancer a year after we started with SCPU."

A pouting lower lip. I'm not sure what it means yet. Sometimes I think it means 'Sure'. Sometimes I think it speaks more words than I can understand, like right now. It's telling me something in code and I have not yet figured it out.

"Yeah. Sure."  
"We'll pick you up at eight-oh-three."

Bosco smiles.

"You know where to pick me up?"  
"I read your file Italy."

This makes him smile even more. He shakes his head again.

"Can I ask you a question?"

It's burning, the question is feasting on my tongue, kicking and scratching, a voice in my head, vociferous, constantly telling me to ask that singeing question. I've been thinking about it all day. Running the question through my head like a broken record. It's recondite and limits me. I break limits because limits make me feel enclosed and surrounded and I hate them.

"Shoot."

Bosco leans against the wall, arms still crossed but at ease and casually.

"What about your partner?"

I can tell that I hit a nerve. I notice that Milo unaware tenses up, his ears prick up, registering the sounds behind him. The air gets heavy and gloomy. Looey's hand stops moving like a shooting star and he listens with one ear. All this while Bosco remains in his calm and composed composure.

"We had a disagreement."  
"About what?"  
"She lied to me."  
"You had a disagreement about lying?"  
"No."  
"So you didn't have a disagreement."  
"No."  
"Then why did you say that?"

Shrug. I watch him from the corner of my eyes, looking up at him. Again, our eyes meet, the only thing that we seem to be able to do, locking eyes and crossing souls. I stare at him, stare him deep in his eyes, making sure he gets the message to never lie again.

"Does it have anything to do with the fact that she got shot?"  
"She's taken a few days off. We split up."  
"Where does that leave you?"  
"Wherever I'm needed."

The air rests again, Milo's muscles relax and Looey continues to wrap up his paperwork. I send him one last look, eyebrows raised and then gather my things as I stand up.

"I reckon that's here."

Bosco's eyes had wandered over my movements and as soon as he hears my words, he looks back at me, meaningful. He nods again.

"Thanks."

"Looey, you done yet?"

As I speak the words, as they roll over my tongue like a bouncing stone over water, he graciously and dramatically pushes the pen down to write down his last dot and put all his papers in a brown file. Repeating a day in day out movement, he throws it on my desk, atop of the unique mess of papers, reports, files and forms.

"All right boys, seven o'clock. Time to call it a day. I'll just hand all this-"

I push all the papers on my desk into one unorganized mountain of sheets, files and loose papers.

"- To Swersky. Looey, you comin' tonight?"  
"Would miss it."  
"Need a ride?"  
"No, Linda's coming too. She's driving."

Linda was Looey's drop dead gorgeous fiancée. Long legs, supermodel waist size and a stunningly elegant face. If I forget the fact that I sometimes feel as if she stole one of my favourite persons, I like her a lot. She's not too smart, but kind to the entire world. Which she must be, kindness is a requirement when being a nurse.

"'Ola mamá."

Miss Perez is short and chubby, always wearing colourful clothings and so much jewelry, I'm surprise she's still standing. She has always been a mother to the team, but since her son died she's been really mothering over her. She lost her husband during the Chiapas Uprising on New Year's Eve, nineteen-ninety-four. Her only child, Pedro, or Chimba as I called him, witnessed his father getting shot. He was twenty-two but it had scarred him till he died.

She greets me as she walks down lane in front of her typically Mexican house, white, small but with a lot of ground around it, colourful. Alive. The moment she sees me, she practically runs towards me, her arms already spread wide open.

"Niña, angel."

The phrase 'A smile to die for' was created for her. She had one of those rare, mellifluous, compassionate smiles were her eyes sparkle and just speak caring. She's probably the closest thing I have for a mother.

I let myself get pulled into a tight, loving hug and she rubs my back as she asks me how I've been. Milo, Looey and Linda get pulled into the same warm hug and she laughs as she lets them go and takes a good look at them.

"Miss Perez, I'd like you to meet Maurice Boscorelli. He's filling in for Foxy."

Miss Perez's smile falters and the known wrinkle on her forehead appears just above her eyebrows. A hand finds its way to her chest where she lays it down.

"Not his mother again?"

Her words are filled with a Mexican accent.

"I'm 'fraid so."  
"I'll call him tomorrow. Perhaps go over to his mother's house, see if I can do anything."  
"If you need a ride or something, just give me a call okay?"

Miss Perez waves my offer away, she was never the woman to take things from other people. Still, she lays her hand on my arm shortly and squeezes. Then she turns to Bosco and studies him closely, watching his face and his eyes.

"It's a pleasure to meet you m'am."

She remains quiet and Bosco's eye flash over to me. Milo does the same thing and I curve my lower lip into a lopsided smile for a split second. A few seconds pass (precious, wasted seconds) and when I reach the point to step in, miss Perez steps forward and cups Bosco's face.

"That woman over there,-"

His eyes move to meet mine again, if only shortly.

"- she may be a reckless, careless person, but she's good at what she does. She's got a golden heart. You listen to her, hijo (son), and you do as she tells you. If you find yourself in danger, she'll get you home safe. Despite the fact that she's a atrivido (daredevil). Okay?"

"Yes m'am."

"Don't call me m'am. Now, come on in, Cristiano, I made your favourite salad."

She intertwines arms with Linda and together, they head towards the house. Milo raises his eyebrows and exhales, grabbing his cigarettes. Looey follows the two women, as Milo, Bosco and I fall in line, occasionally taking a step while smoking.

"I hate it when she calls me that."

"So, what do you think Italy?"

Bosco's sitting at a table, talking to Chimba's aunt, Alma. As she lays her eyes upon me, she bends forward and rubs my cheek carefully.

"Are you eating enough, Morgan?"

Damn. Bosco's head immediately turns to me the moment he realises Alma calls me by my real first name and he smirks cocky and satisfied. As I look at him shortly, he raises his eyebrows and takes a pull from his beer.

"Yes Alma."  
"Getting enough sleep?"  
"As much as I can."  
"You look too pale, you should sit more in the sun darling."  
"I'm really busy with work."  
"Always the same excuse. You should take better care of yourself. You're still young, when you're getting older like me, there's not much you can do."  
"I'll keep that in mind."  
"Okay."

Her thumb caresses my skin and she smiles. Then, she stands up, says something to the kids in Spanish and walks over to Looey and Linda. Milo is flirting somewhere with some girl that he picked up a minute after he arrived. By the looks of it, he's planning on standing in an alley not far away by now. Perhaps even upstairs, in miss Perez' house. I wouldn't surprise me.

I avoid eye contact with Bosco, whom is still smirking at me.

"Morgan."  
"I swear to God I'll kick your sorry skinny ass."  
"Yes sir."

As I take a sip from my beer myself, I dare to look at him. He's still smiling.

"You haven't answered my question."  
"Think of what?"  
"Today. SCPU. This."  
"I'm thinking today was a good day. DA should make a good case."  
"They better. Took us three months to set everything up legally."  
"I'm looking forward to work with you and your team some more. I can learn a lot from SPCU and this, this is amazing."  
"It is, isn't it."

We both grow silent and watch the people around us. There are kids running around, chasing each other. People dancing on the magnificent music, bodies pressed close together as this music calls upon close physical contact. The backyard is decorated, lights hung across is, casting a yellowish glow over the entire scene. Beyond the funky beat of the music, you can hear a mixture of English and Spanish chatter, all of this shaken into a unique event, one that, if you allow it, makes the world a little brighter.

"How long have you been on the force?"

As he asks it, Italy rests both his elbows in the white wooden table in front of him, the hand that holds his beer relaxed hanging down. I light a cigarette, send an 'Yeah, yeah, I know' look at miss Perez who's watching me and I lean forward as well, taking my chance, closing the distance.

"I was seventeen when I joined the academy. A year before graduation, Milo and I joined the Army. So, that means about seven years."  
"Seven years?"  
"Yup."  
"How'd you get so far with only seven years of experience?"  
"Done a lot of things in the Army. Was immediately noticed in my second week at the academy. Seen a lot, done a lot. I just worked my way up the ladder, got lucky."  
"What'd you do in the Army?"  
"First SFOD-D."  
"Delta?"  
"Yup."

There. He does it again. The lopsided smile. Almost as if he does it in approval. Perhaps that's it.

"You?"  
"You know what I did."  
"I'm making conversation."  
"Rangers."  
"I like the Rangers."  
"Delta and Rangers hate each other. Like the Army and the Marine. Cats and dogs."  
"You wanna dance?"

I can tell that I startle him with my question. I smile wickedly and look at him. He's looking right back at me and does the upside down smile again.

"I'm not such a good dancer."  
"It's just foreplay."  
"I am good at that."  
"Then let's go."

I stand up and wait for him to do so as well. As he does, his body gets close to mine and I can feel his warm, hot breath on the exposed skin in my neck.

"I don't want to suck up. I want this, I want to work with you and your team because I want to. I don't want to work with you the next couple of times because I sucked up or please you in some way. I want you to want me because I'm good."

I lean in closer, trying not to make body contact as I do. I turn my head a little to whisper in his ear.

"Then you'll have to be really good so it won't be sucking up, won't you?"  
"Let's go."

I smile, hiding it from Bosco but he knows. I love playing this game. My black and blue dress waves along my movements as I head towards the wooden planks on the ground that function as a dance floor. I can feel his eyes over my body and I love the feeling of being adored.

Within seconds, we're getting closer and curve with the beat of the music, one arm swung around his shoulders, the other dancing in the air. His hands politely on my lower back, sometimes switching to my hip. Our body's touch each other, never breaking contact. He's pressed up against me and I still feel his breath in my neck and ear.

Everything he does, every move, every touch, every time he breathes, everything about this man just turns me on. I can't help it and I gave up fighting when we waited for Frankie to show. My mind is clouded and I can't think anymore. I only care that he's touching me, if only on my back, if only those couple of times his nose brushes past my cheek.

My skin burns under his touch, his fingertips tickling it, teasing me, taunting me, seducing me. He pushes me against my front door, hungry hands down my sides, up my back. Fierce and warm lips capturing mine, demanding more and more and I am more than willing to give it to him. We sparkle, electricity keeping us together, bound, pressed against each other. Reciprocal, conjoint attraction, fire burning, tingling skin. Hot breaths in the air, breathing loud and rapid, closed eyes and mouths loosely and slightly open, ready to meet again.

I finally manage to open the door and we stumble in. I hear him kick the door closed again and his ardent kisses leave a trail down to my neck. One hand moves down to my butt, pushing me closer as he takes the lead and shuffles inside my apartment. The other is placed high on my side, near my chest, but almost officially not just there. I tilt my head back and a gasp escapes my lips. I place both my hands on the sides of his dainty face and pull his lips back onto mine. At last I regain control and step back into being the dominant woman I am. I push him, carefully but clear, in the direction of my bedroom.

His tongue swirls, dances, intertwines with mine, his kisses rapt, wet and wily, sending shivers down my bare back. I hear him breathing, loud and visible in the electric and radiating air. I let him lose, breaking contact with my hands as I push my arms backward and flap a couple of times. His hands slide down my shoulders, helping me take off the black leather jacket I was wearing. I bury my face in his neck as soon as I hear it fall on the ground and start to unbutton his shirt.

With one elegant and strong pull it's gone, discarded somewhere on the floor, laying forgotten and useless. Shoes are kicked to the sides to join this domestic scene and we reach the French doors of my bedroom. They're open and we enter, I push him on my bed the moment my mind's able to focus on what I'm seeing. I follow close behind and am welcomed by lusty hands, eager lips and an avid, desirous Bosco.

The rest of the night is hot and sweaty, perfect sex in a smooth and comfortable dark night. We don't speak, there are no words to say. Our body's speak as they curve in pleasure and ache in desire. Hands move up and down, caressing, touching, loving, burning. Kisses are deep and long, never enough and tongues stick together to play. Noses are making contact as body's move in the same rapid pace, close together.

When the act is over, still not satisfied and unfulfilled, we start over, moving again. Touching again. Wanting and demanding again. The night is young and we both agree to make it last as long as we can make it last.

Hot, casual, pointless sex in the late hours of the thriller night.


End file.
